


this above all; to thine own self be true

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bastardizing Shakespeare, Character Death, Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, References to Hamlet, balon greyjoy is always and forever the worst, don't fear the character death warning, no really don't, theon's life always sucks regardless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2738522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein it’s probably accurate to say that something is rotten in the Iron Islands.</p><p>Alternatively, the Hamlet AU you didn't know you needed until this point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this above all; to thine own self be true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cycladian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cycladian/gifts).



> This was written for the last got-exchange round - my prompt was _Hamlet AU: Theon is summoned to Pyke from Winterfell, and arrives with Robb Stark to find the islands in a dreadful state. His father is dead, and his half-mad mother has promptly married his uncle Euron. Asha has been, but she is rallying troops around the islands. Meanwhile, the ghost of King Balon has been seen on the bridges of Pyke, but he will speak to no one save his only son. Angst follows as Balon commands Theon to kill Euron. Robb counsels Theon and comforts him, but is careful not to show that he likes Theon more than he should, and doesn't know Theon feels the same way. This culminates in one night together (before Asha begins a siege of Pyke and Euron tries to kill Theon one last time._ And - listen, it was perfect, so I really had to.
> 
> (In case anyone is interested beforehand and it wasn't clear from the prompt: featuring Theon and Robb as Hamlet and Horatio, Euron and Alannys as Claudius and Gertrude, Asha as Fortinbras, Victarion and Erik Ironmaker sharing the Polonius role and various other Ironborns starring as the various guards. Ophelia, Laertes and Rosencratz/Guildenstern will have to wait for the next time I tackle this subject.) The title is from the source material itself and nothing else except the plot changes/adapting belongs to me. Also the horror and gore stuff in the warnings is all Balon's fault, as everything really.

_Prologue_

 

This is not the first time Wex wishes he never set foot in Pyke’s castle and it won’t be the last for sure.

Sure, in theory it was a very fine idea indeed, and he might be mute and he might not be able to read or write but he’s not stupid – he knows that as far as being a bastard son in his condition, a guard for the Greyjoys is the best option life could offer him. So he does not resent his lord father for having shipped him off to Pyke just after Lord Balon passed away and Lord Euron was admittedly looking to _replenish the ranks_. They would take in people as young as ten, after all.

In practice, though, it’s everything but a fine idea.

It’s not just that he knows no one and he can hardly be friendly with people, not when he is mostly surrounded by men thrice his age and he cannot speak in the first place.

It’s the damned _place_.

He’s only glad he was not stationed inside the castle, because he has been near the new ruler of the islands just once and it was plenty enough. Never mind his lady wife – he only saw her that one time, too, but his post is just outside her windows, and he can hear her crying most nights. Half of the time, she screams that she wants her son back.

( _Where is my baby boy, Euron? You_ promised _!_ )

Good thing tonight she’s not in her rooms.

Wex shudders and hopes that lady Alannys’s only surviving son comes from Winterfell soon enough – Theon Greyjoy hasn’t been on the islands since he was taken hostage ten years ago, but in light of his father’s passing, his sister’s banishment and his mother’s requests he’s been summoned and Wex, for one, can’t wait for the moment it comes to pass. If only because at least it would make his shifts feel a lot less long than they feel right now.

It’s raining.

Other than that, there’s an almost eerie silence around, and Dagmer will not come to relive him for a while, at least. Wex sighs soundlessly and gets ready for another half a night of rain, misery and thunder.

So, it’s a night not different from the average.

Except that he’s _wrong_.

At the beginning, he barely notices it. Fine, for a moment it seemed to him as if something white was flashing in between the drops of rain, but he most probably made it up because he’s cold and bored and he just wants to go to sleep in a fairly warm bed.

Also, there’s lightening a moment later. That explains it. Wex closes his eyes, wraps his cloak tighter around himself and the moment he hears thunder he opens them again.

And then –

There’s another bolt of lightening, far away, but then something similar flashes in front of him, the temperature suddenly drops and –

If Wex had a voice, he would have screamed.

Because in front of him, right in front of him, there’s the late Lord Balon.

Not that Wex has ever seen him in the flesh, but he has heard plenty of descriptions, and the man in front of him sports a certain resemblance to both Lord Euron and Lord Victarion, and some to Lord Aeron as well.

And he’s there. Standing perfectly still, wearing a Greyjoy armor even in his old age, his white, long hair falling over his shoulders. And – and he’s staring straight at Wex, his eyes bloodshot and red droplets of blood covering the breast plate of the armor and his left cheek. And – half of his head is just – _smashed in_ , blood splattered all over his head and half of his forehead, and of course it would be –

Because Lord Balon died _falling from a bridge_ , one that wasn’t very tall, and had died bashing his head against the rocks underneath.

Also, his skin looks – pink, but somehow also transparent. Wex can’t put it into words – he only knows that he’s petrified as Lord Balon’s lips part in a sneer and he hisses two words.

 _My son_ , he says, and then his teeth clank together with a horrible sound, and a screech leaves his throat, and then he’s gone as if he never was there.

Wex breathes in sharply, just to show himself that he can, and he wants to scream, but he cannot, and then he turns on his back and sees Dagmer standing behind him, his skin the color of pale ash.

“I saw it, boy,” he mutters. “I was down in the yard and noticed something queer happening.”

His voice is slightly wavering. Dagmer’s voice never wavers.

“Good thing _Theon Greyjoy_ is coming here within the week, isn’t it?” Dagmer asks, perfectly knowing he won’t receive an answer. Wex gives him a small, dumbfounded nod, and while he agrees with the general sentiment, he can’t help the traitorous thought sneaking up his brain and latching without giving a hint that it might go away.

_Definitely not good for him, though._

And the thing is, knowing he hadn’t imagined it isn’t making this better at all. Seven hells, he wishes he had made it up, but the way he’s shaking still and Dagmer’s pale face say everything there is to say. They didn’t make that up at all.

Wex shudders. He thinks about everything he’s heard from inside Lady Alannys’ room, the things he wishes he could report to someone else but that he cannot.

( _You sent my girl away, and you_ promised, _so where is he?_

 _I miss my baby boy. Where is he? You said he would come, you_ promised _he would, you said –_

 _You_ promised, _Euron!_ )

No.

He really would not like to be in Theon Greyjoy’s shoes right now or ever.

 

_I._

 

“Theon, I wouldn’t want to presume anything, but –”

“I know,” Theon interrupts him – he doesn’t need Robb to state the obvious.

He knows that the raven that just reached their ship and that his sister sent from Fair Isle reads a lot more trustworthy than the one he received at Winterfell summoning him back to Pyke. He doesn’t need Robb to point that out _again_.

“I _know_ , but as I have been summoned directly, I can hardly not go at all and side with my sister without having assessed the situation with my own eyes, can’t I?”

Robb sighs and tucks the raven away in his breast pocket, staring straight out of the window in Theon’s cabin. In a few hours or so they will dock and it’s obvious even from here that the weather is going to be miserable. It’s slightly raining already and they are pretty far out.

“I suppose not,” Robb agrees before sitting down next to him on the bed.

Theon isn’t going to state it out loud, but he is very glad that he isn’t going back home alone – not with the circumstances being what they are. Peace if the excuse is that Robb needs to make sure that if the circumstances are dire he comes back to Winterfell instead of staying.

“She’s not making things any easier, though. What should I do now that she contacts me? She’s been banished. Doesn’t it make me some kind of traitor if I don’t tell them first thing after we set foot back on dry land?”

Banished because she accused their uncle of kinslaying, out of all things. Theon hasn’t seen Euron Greyjoy in years and he wishes that he could say that she is lying, but from what he had seen back then and what he has heard up until this point it’s an entirely plausible accusation. Of course, _kinslaying_ isn’t the kind of accusation to take lightly, but can he honestly say that he doesn’t think his uncle capable of it?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what anyone in his family is like now, and of course he wouldn’t know, because he hasn’t been on the islands in ten bloody years and while he knows that he would have been welcomed as his status deemed had his lord father been alive when he came back, he has no clue of what he should expect now.

Sure, the fact that Asha was banished when she tried to seize power herself and that he was promptly summoned back should bode well as far as he’s concerned, but Robb is right. The first raven they received was worded strangely, and not everything in it quite added up. He hadn’t really wanted to notice that, but when Robb had pointed out that it was quite strange that two days after his father _fell off one of the bridges in Pyke’s castle_ his mother would promptly marry Theon’s own uncle. As far as Robb knew, it was not exactly the usual procedure, should the person sitting on the Seastone Chair die, and Theon knows that even better than Robb, since he was the one explaining it to him.

Never mind that his father dying like that sounds highly unlikely. A seasoned warrior like his lord father falling from a bridge during a thunderstorm when as far as Theon remembers he always used to walk those bridges connecting the towers like he owned them, and when on Pyke it had rained most of the time in the first place? Of course, he was younger then. Anyone can put their foot wrong and slip.

Still, it was not the way he had imagined his father dying. Never mind that as Robb pointed out Theon should have been summoned before his mother could marry again, and even not counting Theon himself, Euron was hardly the first in line when coming to succession.

And now Asha sends him a raven saying that their lord father was killed by their uncle who took advantage of their mother’s fragile state, then states that he can choose whichever side he wants but she is definitely going to find herself troops and take back what is hers.

This is not the way he had imagined to return home after all these years.

“In theory you should,” Robb agrees, “but I think you would be better off pretending she never contacted you in the first place.”

For a moment Theon doesn’t get what Robb is implying, but then he thinks about it one moment and he thinks he sees it. “Right. Telling them I know might change the story I will be told the moment I get there, wouldn’t it?”

“I think so. Don’t – do or say anything that is not… carefully neutral until you’re sure of what is actually going on.”

Theon gives him a nod before standing back up again and looking out of the window again. “Well, this is not what I had imagined would happen on my return,” he mutters without even looking at Robb. “Will you hold on to my sister’s raven, though?” Better that if it’s found, it’s not found on him.

“Of course.”

He doesn’t turn back to look at Robb, and so he doesn’t see that Robb is sending him very worried looks.

He looks outside instead, at the dark sea and at the even darker horizon. He would like to think, _this doesn’t feel like home_.

Then why does it look exactly the way he remembered it on the ship sailing to Winterfell?

\--

It’s raining when the ship docks. He doesn’t recognize his own uncle Aeron until the latter comes to get them, and seven hells, didn’t he age. He remembered a young man who liked to joke and always said he had to do that or the bleakness of the islands would have become too much, not the somber priest with thinning white hair and dark shadows under his eyes that greets him.

“I see you did not come alone,” Aeron says, looking at Robb with something like disapproval.

“The terms were clear, weren’t they?” Theon snaps back, because ravens had been exchanged and Ned Stark only agreed to send him back knowing someone from Winterfell would come with him, and his uncle should damn well have known that.

His uncle stares at him as if he’s about to say something Theon will not like, then he shrugs minutely and doesn’t even introduce himself to Robb. “Very well. Then we should leave right now – if we ride swiftly, we might reach Pyke in time for supper. Your horses are this way.”

He turns his back to the both of them and Theon follows, rain already drenching his cloak.

“Wasn’t he the one out of your uncles who wasn’t all doom and gloom?” Robb hisses from his left side. Theon can’t help snorting out at that.

“Well, yeah, but he wasn’t much interested in the Drowned God back then either. I’m sorry if –”

“Don’t worry and let’s just go. The sooner we get to Pyke the sooner we can get out of these wet clothes – you never said the weather was this bad,” Robb jokes, but it falls flat.

Theon never told him, of course he did not. He liked to remember best the days when the sun would show from the clouds and the sea would look the color of sapphires rather than like gray mud, which was admittedly most of the time, but he doesn’t even know how he’s supposed to put it into words, and so he does not and walks on.

Mud sticks to his boots and he hears thunder in the distance.

No, this isn’t the way he had pictured his return at all.

\--

To his credit, he tries to get information out of this uncle, but to no avail – every time he tries to ask about his lord father or his mother or he doesn’t even get an answer. Robb makes a few attempts at small talk but they fall flat. By the time they reach the castle they’re soaking wet, he feels colder than he had in those few winter years in the North and he feels thoroughly miserable.

“You can’t present yourself looking like that,” his uncle declares as they dismount. “You both can change and then come to see Lord Euron.” He says it in a way that suggests more distaste than anything, which is somehow the only thing he’s done until now that reminds Theon of the man he used to know, and then he disappears into the dark hallway of the castle.

They are escorted to a couple of nearby rooms and they agree to meet outside in a short while. Theon waits for the maids to put his luggage in the room, and then when they leave he takes a better look at it.

Seven hells, they really didn’t go out of their way, did they? It’s small, it’s damp, it’s cold, the small window only lets him see one of the towers and the mirror is covered in dust.

Definitely not what he had pictured throughout his captivity. He sighs and disrobes after drying himself off as best as he can, figuring that asking for a bath would be useless. Then he puts on his warmest clothes – he’d have rather worn his favorite silks, if only because they feel a lot better than rough wool, but he needs to be warm more than anything else. He dons a pair of new leather gloves and walks outside the room.

Robb isn’t there, so he knocks.

“You can come in,” Robb says from the other side of the door. Theon does and –

If he had thought his own room wasn’t suitable for Balon Greyjoy’s heir, Robb’s is a slap in the face of every rule of hospitality. It’s half the size of his own, it’s colder and the bed looks out of the servants’ quarters. At least Theon’s bed is fairly large and it was mildly comfortable when he sat on it.

“… I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll ask them to give you a better room.” It’s not just that Robb is his friend – and no one is supposed to know how good of one he is, for that matter – but he’s also the heir to the Stark family. Just for that he should have been given quarters better than Theon’s, never mind this poor excuse for a servants’ room.

“I wouldn’t bother.” Robb shrugs and then grabs a heavy fur from his things, wrapping it around his shoulders. He’s not wearing any armor, but he is bringing his sword along. “I mean, this is hardly ideal, but if you complain about it they will think you’re being deferential towards me, and the last thing you should do is question them directly.”

Which is an entirely good point, but still. “Seven hells, Robb, this is openly disrespecting you and your family, you do realize that?”

“I do, but it doesn’t seem to me like your room is that better from what I saw before.”

“Well, it’s bigger. And the bed is better. But – you might have a point.”

“I think we should get to the bottom of this. Maybe they will give us some food after.”

Good point, since they have barely eaten until now. Theon sighs and leads the way outside, and he’s greeted by a couple of guards the moment they step out of the hallway.

“My lord,” one of them says. “I imagine you wish to speak with Lord Euron.”

“I do.”

“Very well. Follow us. But –” The man stops, casts a glance around the area, then moves a bit closer. “My lord, there is a matter that requires your attention, and yours only. Would you be willing to come out on the ramparts this night? I will show you.”

“What? I mean, of course I would, but – why the secrecy?”

The guard sighs, then shakes his head. “I cannot speak of it here. But we have our reasons. Me, and a few others that always man that side of the ramparts. I assure you that tonight all your questions will be answered if you come.”

Theon shrugs, figuring that there’s no harm in coming. At least the guard is addressing him the way his status deems, which is more than he can say for anyone he’s met up until this point.

“Very well. Fetch me whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“Thank you, my lord. If you would follow me…”

Theon breathes in and does, Robb falling into step next to him.

“What did he want?” He whispers.

“There’s apparently a matter that requires my presence out on the ramparts tonight but he wouldn’t say what exactly. I told him I would go. You don’t have to come, though.”

“Does anyone ever say something straight on these islands?” Robb mutters to himself.

Theon wishes he could disagree.

He really does.

\--

Robb falls into step behind him when they reach the main hall’s doors, and Theon mentally thanks him for it as he walks inside.

Well, he remembered it differently.

Not that it never was gloomy, because he remembers it like that, but now? The windows are all closed, he can smell stale air and the only person in the room who looks somewhat near happy is his uncle, who’s sitting on the Seastone chair as if he owns it. He grins when he sees Theon coming in, but it’s not… a welcoming grin. Definitely not.

His uncle Victarion is standing on one side of the chair, looking thoroughly murderous. On the other side there’s someone else whose name completely escapes Theon right now. He’s half-sure he was around the castle way back in the day, though, even if he wasn’t this old and wasn’t sitting on a chair instead of standing – well, never mind. He’ll remember. It’s not the biggest issue right now.

“Look if it’s not the last of Balon’s children finally coming home.” When Euron breaks the silence, Theon almost gasps out loud – before, one could hear a pin drop. Seven hells. Never mind that he’s hardly the last – his sister is still alive, as far as he’s concerned.

“My lord,” he says. “I am glad to be back, even if it’s in dire circumstances.”

“Of course, of course, but what can we do, death finds us all at some point or another. I trust you found your quarters pleasing?”

 _No_ , he’d like to answer, _and surely I didn’t find Robb’s pleasing at all_ , but he’d be a colossal fool if he said that out loud.

“I did, thank you. And – may I ask where my lady mother is?”

There’s nothing wrong in asking, not when the letter stated that she requested his presence.

“Sadly she felt indisposed today, but you may see her tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, I should hope you would join us for dinner, as I think there are many things to discuss. You have been away a long time after all, haven’t you?”

“I have. But – sorry to ask, is the invite only directed to me?”

At that point they seem to notice Robb standing behind him – he hasn’t said a word until now and he doesn’t step forward until Theon moves to the side a bit.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be an ungracious host. Of course I wouldn’t deny an invite to the first Stark who set foot in this castle since the rebellion.”

He’s grinning as he says it, and Theon feels very thankful that Robb isn’t saying a thing and is merely staring at his uncle without his face giving out a single emotion.

“When should we, then?”

“But why, right now, of course. Follow me.” He stands up and heads towards the empty table – it only has four places, but a maid arrives after a moment to quickly add a fifth next to Theon’s.

Euron sits at the head, of course, and Theon is about to take his own seat when his uncle Victarion grabs him by the arm and takes him to the side.

“A word of advice, boy,” he hisses. “Looking sorry for the son of your _captor_ is not going to pay you any favors.”

_What?_

Theon doesn’t like this at all, but he doesn’t even try to come up with a retort and takes his place.

\--

Dinner is a nightmare. It’s not just that Robb doesn’t say a single word because no one asks him one single question and he has probably realized speaking up unprompted is a bad idea, it’s that while nothing his uncle says is derogative in any way – it just doesn’t feel right. 

_So, how did you enjoy your time off the islands?_

_Is Ned Stark in good health? I trust he would be and I certainly hope so._

_And what did you think of the hospitality?_

And so on. It’s also the tone – it’s pleasant enough, but it’s as if they’re somehow humoring him when _they_ summoned him here. His father isn’t discussed once. His sister and mother aren’t mentioned either. The food tastes like ash in his mouth and by the time they’re excused, he feels like vomiting it all up.

At least they’re left alone as they head back to their rooms.

“Robb –” He starts when they’re finally alone.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t think you had a hand in it, did you?”

“Of course not, but – seven hells, if your name had been Lannister a war would have been declared already.”

“Good thing I am no Lannister then, right?”

Theon snorts and for a moment he just wants to head straight to bed, but – 

He did tell those guards he’d go with them.

“Listen, I have to find out what I have to be on the ramparts for. If you want to go to sleep –”

“Theon, I didn’t come here to sleep. I’m coming with you.” There’s something in the way Robb looks at him that makes Theon wonder if there’s something he’s not saying, but –

It’s late, and he needs to get to the bottom of this.

He heads for the ramparts.

\--

“I’m sorry, what?”

“My lord,” Dagmer Cleftjaw says, sounding at least apologetic, “I understand entirely, but that’s the way it is.”

“You’re telling me that _my father’s ghost_ has appeared on the ramparts and _has asked for me_.”

“Saw it with mine own eyes. The boy did as well. And Gelmarr, too. We weren’t drunk and it was the beginning of our watch.”

“He was saying my son,” Gelmarr adds, and Theon – Theon doesn’t even know what to say.

“So what – I should just – go there and wait?”

“I don’t think you shall wait for long,” Dagmer mutters. “But yes. It has appeared every night until today around this time, and now that you’re here – well. I have no doubt it will again.”

Theon swallows. “Very well. I – I shall go, then. Robb, really, you don’t have to –”

“It’s not even raining. I can wait here, just go and see this through.”

Theon takes a deep breath and turns his back on all four of them, wrapping himself in his cloak a bit tighter. Then he heads for the place he was pointed at.

Then he waits.

\--

He doesn’t have to wait for long at all.

He’s considering whether he should sit or not when suddenly the air’s temperature drops even further and a biting rush of wind hits his face.

He closes his eyes and opens them after it’s gone, and –

He’s face to face with his late father, _indeed_.

He’s standing there in front of him, a Greyjoy armor falling down because of rust, with hair that it’s a lot longer and whither than Theon remembers it being falling down on it in dirty, ruined locks. His eyes are completely bloodshot and there’s blood everywhere on him – hair, breast, face, the back of his hands, and seven hells _he can see flesh on the left side of his head_ while his skin looks a weird shade of pink. When he opens his mouth, his teeth are stained with blood.

“It took you long enough,” he croaks, with a voice that is somehow the same Theon remembers and completely different.

“I –”

“I don’t have time for your pitiful excuses. And I should hope that you will make the wait worth it. I would have asked this of your sister, but they sent her away, _of course they did_ , and so it falls down to you to avenge me.”

“Avenge?”

“Boy, do you think I would die such a ludicrous death?” His father’s lips curl up in a snarl. “Euron pushed me after your traitorous mother poisoned my drink.”

Theon feels his entire body go rigid.

Poisoned his drink?

“My _mother_?”

“Your _mother_ , yes. They were in league and they played me, all right. Well, that usurper turned her against me, and he used you for that. They sent into exile the only person who’d have seen through their deceit, and now I only have you to put things right. And you should, since the only reason your mother helped was that he promised her he’d bring you back sooner than I would have.”

“What do you want?” Theon manages to asks, and for some miracle his voice sounds somewhat steady. They’re close now, so close he can smell something foul and disgusting in the air, a stench that feels a lot like death and which was not in the air before now.

“Kill them.”

If he had felt petrified before, _that_ turns his blood to ice.

“Kill them?”

“What else should you do? They’re also usurping your rightful position, though the Drowned God knows, from what I see your sister would have been a much better choice. They killed me. They killed your father and you should put this right, and there’s no bloody other way, Theon. I won’t rest until they are both with me, and if it shall fall to you, well, this is your occasion to prove you really are worthy of that seat.”

“That’s kinslaying,” Theon manages to say.

“And what have they done? Don’t tell me that ten years with the Starks turned you into a wolf, because that’s what it looks like to me.”

“I’m not!”

“Then prove it,” his father’s ghost says, and then it disappears with a shriek that makes Theon’s blood run even colder.

The moment it disappears, his legs give out and he crashes to the ground.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, but when Robb grabs his arm and hauls him up he’s entirely too grateful for it.

His legs won’t even hold up.

“Should I ask you if you heard?” Theon sighs when he’s sure he can stand.

“We did,” Robb answers, and when Theon turns to look at him, he looks as pale as he feels.

“I think it goes unsaid none of us is going to say anything about it, my lord,” Dagmer adds a moment later. “Never mind that Wex can’t in the first place, but they’d hardly believe this story, would they.”

“Yes. Please, do not. I cannot possibly – I need to see into this matter. And I will. Just – I think I will go now.”

“Of course, my lord,” Dagmer says hurriedly, and Theon walks away as fast as he can, feeling downright grateful for the fact that Robb is hurrying back behind him.

And still, he can hear Gelmarr sighing and telling Dagmer _my friend, there really is something rotten in these islands_.

He wishes he could disagree.

But for now he can only think, _what do I do now_?

\--

“You still can leave,” he says the moment Robb shuts the door of his room.

“I don’t think this is the main problem at hand. I saw that, you know.”

“And you heard it, I suppose.”

“And I heard it.”

For a moment, neither of them says a thing.

“So there’s no way I made it up, is it.”

“As much as I wish it were the case, you didn’t.”

“Right, and what do I do with the fact that it looks like my dead father wants me to kill my mother? If it’s even real.”

“There’s something else I’d worry about rather than just that, Theon.”

He doesn’t understand what Robb means until Robb reaches down in a small pouch he keeps on his hip and shows him Asha’s letter.

“Ah, damn it. That proves her right, doesn’t it?”

“You might want to consider that option,” Robb agrees. “And you really might not want to let it show that you know.”

He shudders regardless of all the layers of clothing he’s wearing. “Good point. Well, I suppose tomorrow I will see my mother and get to the bottom of this, but – I don’t like it. Any of it.”

“You’re not the only one,” Robb agrees, standing up. “Well, I suppose we can sleep on it.”

Which is an entirely great prospect. Except that –

“Wait. Are you really sure you want to sleep in that room? We can switch.” It’s not that he particularly wants to, but he can’t help feeling terrible for the way thinks have gone until now, never mind that the only person who ever was more than halfway decent to him in Winterfell doesn’t deserve this kind of welcoming. Never mind – no, he’s not going to think about the way he sees Robb Stark these days, because it wouldn’t do anyone good right this moment.

“There’s no need to,” Robb says. “Really. Though I suppose you do owe me for lending you my bed’s furs a long time ago, don’t you?”

Theon would have thrown something his way if he had anything better than a pillow – they did share a bed more than once in Winterfell back when he had just arrived and couldn’t get adjusted to the cold, and it’s not that he’s missed it lately, but –

Ah, seven hells, he might as well.

“Fine. Just get out before sunrise or people will notice and I doubt we need that.”

Robb smirks at him and not long later they’re sharing Theon’s fairly large bed – at least there’s one decent piece of furniture in this room.

He doesn’t remember his dreams at all but when he wakes up he feels deeply unsettled, and the other side of the bed is still warm but empty, and he doesn’t know why he hates the sight this much.

\--

At least, his uncle is somewhat true to his word – after breakfast, _he_ ’s promptly escorted to his mother’s quarters. Of course no one extends the invitation to Robb, who’s quick to say that he shouldn’t come anyway as it’s bound to be something private, and he will just take a stroll around the place and get acquainted instead.

The man who was at his uncle’s side – Erik Ironmaker, damn it, that was his name – volunteers to explain him how to get there – well, he obviously couldn’t accompany Theon himself, since he’s apparently stuck on that chair and can hardly stand up on his own. Not that it’s a surprise – he has to have seen at least seventy name days. At least.

“My lord,” he says after he’s satisfied that Theon knows which way to go, “you cannot imagine how happy she will be to see you.”

“I should be equally happy to see her as well,” Theon replies truthfully.

“Of course, of course, but – I don’t think it would be quite the same. She has been wishing to finally be reunited with you for so long, you could hardly imagine how much. Especially after your sister’s betrayal. That was so hard on her.”

“It came quite as a surprise. I mean, from what I remember of my sister, she would never have done such a thing.” He tries to sound as outraged as he can just for pretenses’ sake.

“Believe me, my lord, it came to us as a surprise, as well.”

The man’s attitude is grating on his nerves more than Theon would care to admit, but never mind him. That’s not what he’s here for. He thanks him, leaves and heads for the first ramp of stairs he’ll have to climb. 

When he finally reaches his destination, his uncle Victarion is waiting for him outside the door. He tells Theon that he’s late and that he really should be careful of not upsetting the poor woman too much. Theon knocks on the door and then walks inside the room. For a moment he sees nothing – there’s barely light penetrating from the shutters, who are all almost closed. He swallows and takes a couple steps inside – when his eyes gets adjusted, he can see that someone is sitting on an armchair turned towards one of the windows.

“My lady?” his uncle says from behind him.

“What do you want?”

Hells. That sounds like his mother, indeed, but he didn’t recall her voice being this thin, or this tired.

“He’s here. Theon, he has just arrived from the North.”

What? He hasn’t just arrived.

“ _Where_?”

Theon goes towards the armchair. “I’m here, mother,” he says, keeping his tone carefully even even if his throat feels like he could have just swallowed a lump of coal.

And then she stands up at once, her hands going straight for his shoulders, and –

She’s _changed_ so much. He remembers her a lot taller, and not so frail and thin, and her hair was a dark gray, not this sickly shade of pale white, but her eyes are the same, and she looks so happy as her hands move up to his cheeks, tears falling from her eyelids the moment she recognizes him.

“Oh, finally,” she sighs, and for a moment everything is – well. Not quite right, but as much as it gets. He hasn’t seen his mother in years, and it’s just so refreshing to see that someone actually wants him here.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” He asks, not trusting his voice to stay steady.

“So long,” she agrees, “but _finally_. And you have grown up so fine. Such a handsome boy. Oh, it was all worth it.”

“… Worth it?”

She sighs, beckoning him closer. “Well, it’s supposed to be a secret, but how could I keep secrets from you, when everything I wanted for the last ten years was having you here again? As long as you keep that yourself.”

“Of – of course.”

She sighs, then leans even closer, her lips next to his ear.

“Your father was never going to ask for you. But your uncle was so gracious to grant me this one small wish, and he had already taken my two other boys with his mad rebellion. _It was all worth it_ ,” she sighs again. “And now tell me, how have you fared in the North? They haven’t treated you wrongly, have they?”

No, he wants to scream, but it’s not an answer to that question.

He swallows again and tries to smile, even if he’s sure it doesn’t look as sincere as he’d like.

“They did,” he lies, some. “I – Ned Stark raised me along his children.” Not an entire truth, but not a lie either. “One of them came with me. He – he’s been a good friend to me. It hasn’t been too bad.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s good. You think I could meet this friend of yours, one of these days?”

“Why, of course. Whenever you wish,” Theon answers, and –

If only she hadn’t _said that_ , if only he hadn’t known –

And as she reaches out and cradles his cheek in her cold, rough hand he remembers that _they aren’t alone in the room_.

With his uncle.

Damn it.

Damn it.

 

_II._

 

“You can’t know that he heard it.” Robb doesn’t really think it’s likely, not from the way Theon told him it went, but it’s always a possibility, isn’t it? “You said she kept her voice low, didn’t she?”

Theon locks the door, turning the key thrice in the lock.

“Yes, but the room was so damn silent – I can’t know and I certainly can’t ask the man if he heard my mother confessing to me that she helped murder his brother, in whichever way it happened.”

He falls sitting on the bed, his hands in his hair, and he looks entirely defeated – well, Robb figures, how would he feel if he came home after ten years just to end up in the middle of this mess? He’d also like to know what _he_ is supposed to do here, since he was only supposed to keep an eye on the situation and see that Euron Greyjoy wasn’t interested in starting another rebellion – in theory. In practice he also had come because Theon had told him that if someone had to come he’d have rather had him over anyone else from Winterfell, and because they’re friends – never mind that Robb hasn’t had friendly thoughts towards Theon for months by now, and he’s certainly not going to disclose them right now in this mess of a situation.

Never mind that he had not expected to find a friendly welcome, of course, but Lord Balon’s ghost asking for revenge kills was hardly what he had imagined he would find on the islands.

“What in the seven hells do I do now? I can hardly send a raven to my sister, I can hardly leave, I don’t know what they want from me and – it’s kinslaying. I cannot just go and –”

“Did your uncle imply that he heard you?”

“No, but it doesn’t mean a thing. And I am supposed to attend lunch with all of them before midday.”

“I suppose I’m not invited, am I?”

“I wasn’t told. If you want to come –”

“Just to find myself in a situation same as yesterday’s? No, better not push it. Actually, you should go dine with them. I should, you know, take another stroll around the place.”

“Wait – what?”

“Yesterday’s guards seem to tolerate me more than your relatives and I have been asked to dine with them. And the mute boy somehow made me understand that he would be eager to show me around, so I think I will take on their offer and see if I can learn something by talking to them.”

“Wish I could go with you, at this point,” Theon sighs before standing up. “I will change into some more appropriate close. Have fun with the smallfolk, Stark.”

“Hey, Cleftjaw says he used to be a great warrior and the maester-at-atms, I doubt he’s regular smallfolk. As if I would care.”

“Yeah, as if you would.” Theon sounds tired but also halfway fond, which is better than he’s sounded up until this point. “And yes, he was, but I suppose he became too old for that job? I wouldn’t know.”

“I will ask for you. Come on, you should go. I will see you later.”

He stands up and leaves before Theon can say anything else, not wanting to take too much of his time, and then heads out for the ramparts – at least he will have better company than Theon’s relatives.

He also probably enjoys his meal more than Theon is right now – it’s not as if people start greeting him warmly when he enters a room where all the castle guards apparently dine at this hour, but no one looks at him as if he personally wronged them and Cleftjaw is more than willing to talk to him. Robb learns that he was indeed maester-at-arms but that he was dismissed by Lord Euron and that he doesn’t particularly enjoy his new demeaned role, and he confirms that things hadn’t looked much cheerful around the castle since the rebellion. He also doesn’t think that Lady Asha was treated rightly, which is what Robb gathers is the general opinion of the Greyjoy soldiers stationed in the castle.

“So,” Robb tells him when they’re done and tables are being cleared up, “this is obviously something I am saying _hypothetically_ , but if Asha Greyjoy were to declare war on her uncle and were she to reach this island, she would have an army by her side already, or am I wrong?”

Cleftjaw looks at him appreciatively for a split moment before he nods curtly at him. “You would not be. For being such a green boy, Lord Stark, you aren’t half bad at this game.”

“I have to,” Robb answers, holding out his hand. “Well, it has been a pleasure. If I may join you again –”

“Lord Euron doesn’t like wolves sitting at his table, does he?”

“He doesn’t,” Robb admits, figuring there’s no point in concealing it.

“Well, I will leave you to your business. You know where to find us. We’ll let you know if – there are changes on that certain front.”

Robb nods and follows Wex out of the room – the boy can’t talk but he sure can get a point across, and so he spends the next few hours walking around the castle, learning shortcuts and making one-sided conversations. It’s still raining and cold and when Wex shrugs and makes him understand that he has to go get some sleep before his shift, Robb waves at him and thinks that regardless of how drenched he feels, he still probably had a better time than Theon. He sighs, turns back on his heels headed for the nearest door out of the ramparts, and turns left in the hallway. If he’s not wrong, their rooms should be somewhere in this direction and –

“Did you say she told him?”

Robb stops dead in his tracks – the door at his right is closed, but he can definitely hear Euron Greyjoy behind it. By all means, he should leave.

 _But_.

“I am almost certain.”

If that isn’t Victarion Greyjoy himself. Robb moves to the side, standing against the wall and moving his wet hood up again so that if anyone drops by they might not recognize him at first glance.

“He didn’t seem to be aware at lunch, though.”

“Maybe I am wrong or maybe he is wiser than he looks like, but she definitely told him.”

“How is that inconvenient? Or well, how is that not inconvenient for you. That should make your plan entirely easier, shouldn’t it?”

“No need to sound like that, Victarion. Don’t I keep my promises? You want those dragon eggs, you will have them. The moment things are settled here.”

“Settle whatever you wish, you know that if I had to join the ranks of kinslayers my nephew would hardly be my first choice.”

“No one said you had to take part in it.”

Oh gods, Robb thinks, hoping he’s understanding wrong.

“Well, good, but you have to hurry up. Your wife is obviously not trustworthy, as she told him without even a blink, and if he knows –”

“He can’t leave this island alive, of course, but it wasn’t as if I was going to let the biggest threat to my claim live. And I should never want to make my lady wife see her last two children die. Though, who would believe her when the entirety of this island knows she hasn’t had all of her wits about her since the rebellion?”

He’s _not_ understanding wrong, is he.

“So, when?”

“Victarion, I still promised her she would enjoy some time with her precious boy. Do you think I am so cruel that I would snatch that away from her in just one day? We can take a few more days.”

“My lord, and what about the Stark heir?” That sounds like Erik Ironmaker. Well, if anything Robb has the confirm that whatever is the plan, all three of them are on it.

For a moment, no one says a thing. Then.

“Why should we care? If it’s staged in a believable enough way, the moment his precious lap dog is dead he won’t have any reason to be here and we can strike a peace treaty with them just before he leaves. The last thing we need is worrying about the Starks.”

_Even better. At least I’m not on the list of people they want dead._

“Shall we make sure that neither of them sets foot outside the premises until it’s all said and done?”

“Good point, Erik, good point. Make sure it happens.”

Robb would stay longer, but it seems like a conversation bound to end soon, and he’s heard enough.

He turns his back on the door and moves away, trying to be as fast as he can without running – he only starts doing that after he’s turned enough corners that no one from that hallway might have followed him.

Then he does.

By the time he’s at Theon’s door, he’s knocking frantically and when Theon opens it, he all but falls down on his knees.

“Robb, what –”

“Shut the door. Now.”

Theon shrugs and does – he looks tired and paler than he was a month ago, and Robb hates to be the one to give him bad news, but he has to.

“How did your meal go?”

“… Fine enough? My mother only wanted to know about how I fared. No one else said much. Why?”

“I would be cautious to what you eat from now on.”

“… What? I can hardly –”

“Theon, I just walked in front of a locked door, where your uncles and that tool Ironmaker were discussing ways of killing you, your mother and your sister.”

All the remaining blood seems to drain from Theon’s face at once.

“… You’re japing. You must –”

“Do you think I would jape about something that serious? From what I gather, killing you was part of the plan from the beginning, but – your uncle knows your mother told you, so now it’s even more imperative. Though they will be so gracious as to give her a bit of time with you before somehow offing you both.”

Theon all but falls down on the nearest chair, his elbows hitting the nearby table with a dull thud.

“I think I want to be sick,” he says under his breath a moment later.

“I would already have been,” Robb answers, grabbing another chair and putting a hand on Theon’s shoulder – he can’t do much and he can hardly _tell_ him now, but he can do this at least.

“What in the seven hells do I do now? I can’t contact Asha in a few days. I don’t even know how to get a raven out –”

“The mute boy.”

“What?”

“He would do that, I think. And – well, from my own dining, I gathered that every guard in this castle would join your sister’s army at once if they could. If I told them that you want to support her, I think they would be amenable to help you contact her. Maybe we should wait a week or so just to make sure we are taking every possible precaution.”

“A few days it’s still not enough,” Theon sighs. “Unless – unless.”

“Unless what?”

“I think I know what to do. But you have to play along with me.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Well, their main problem is that I might tell, isn’t it? Me more than my mother – from what I gather, no one thinks she’s sound of mind anymore.”

“I guess so. Why?”

“Let’s say I pretend I am not… sound of mind anymore.”

“You mean –”

“If I pretend I’ve gone mad, they have no reason to kill me just now, do they?”

“And how should I play along with that?”

“Just tell them that whatever I do, I used to do in Winterfell as well and that you only let me come with because I suddenly looked fine again after hearing I might get to come home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Better that they think I’m no threat.”

“Very well. I can pretend. But is there a plan beyond that?”

Theon sighs. “I wait for them to think I really am not going to be a threat, then I contact my sister and assure her that she will have my support, and then I hope she’s fast in getting here. Wasn’t she already rallying troops in the first place?”

“There’s something you’re not saying, is it?”

Theon laughs, a small, unhappy laugh that doesn’t make Robb feel any better.

“Well, there’s the part where the vengeful ghost of my dead father actually wants me to murder my uncle, but I’m choosing not to think about it lest I really go mad.”

Robb bites down on his lip, then decides that there’s no reason not to, and moves so that his arms are wrapped around Theon’s shoulders, and it says all that Theon doesn’t try to dislodge himself – for a moment he’s still, then he sags down in the embrace as if he has no strength left.

 

_III._

 

“Do you remember when I said there was something rotten in these islands?” Gelmarr asks, not expecting an answer – he wouldn’t, not from Wex. “Well, it’s not just _something_. A lot is rotten in these godsforsaken islands.”

Wex can hardly disagree on that, can he?

It’s been two months since Lord Balon died and the situation hasn’t gotten any better at all. A few days after they showed him the ghost, Lord Theon has started behaving queerly and now people whisper that he really took after his mother. He’s always speaking nonsense or singing tavern songs at the top of the ramparts, or missing meals just to show up at the end, or behaving generally like he’s slowly losing his wits inch by inch. Lord Stark always says that sometimes he’d behave strangely in Winterfell, but they had thought going home would make it stop, and he always looks sad as he says it.

Of course he knows it’s not true, not really.

It’s raining and the wind is howling like the night Lord Balon died when Robb Stark reaches them on at their post.

“Here,” he says, handing Wex a small leather pouch. “The messages are inside this. There is also enough gold to reach the nearest port – don’t send these from Pyke. Dagmer already said he can find an excuse to justify the two of you being gone, though it shouldn’t be too hard. They barely even notice that I spend time on the ramparts at night, they won’t notice you.”

“And you say you are willing to support –”

“One of those ravens is for my father,” Lord Stark hisses. “There are detailed instructions about whom he should support in case a war breaks out here. The others are for – for _her_. The sooner they’re delivered, the sooner we can put an end to this mummer’s farce.”

“Very well. Wex, let’s go. He might be a wolf but he has the right of it.”

Wex holds the pouch against his breast and follows Gelmarr down the ramparts and towards the stables.

Robb Stark has the right of it indeed, he thinks.

He doesn’t know what exactly is going on in the palace, but for one he’s happy to be leaving for the moment and that he’s not eager to be back at all.

 

_IV._

 

 _Let’s hope it was the right course of action_ , Robb thinks as he watches them go. He’s worried that he hasn’t received a single raven from Winterfell by now, but he’s also fairly sure they’re withholding them from him if it’s the case, so he tries not to let himself worry. Surely Lord Euron is keeping contact with his father and feeding him whatever information he deems fit, but it’s fine for now.

He sighs, wishing for at least one day of sunlight, and moves to head back downstairs, and that’s when he finds himself face to face with Balon Greyjoy’s ghost.

It’s sudden – one moment everything is as rainy and wet and cold as usual, and the other the air is colder, in ways winter in the North never was, and –

And then the air becomes thinner somehow, and after a blink he’s face to face with a ghastly man, covered in blood, whose flesh looks about to fold on itself when it’s visible at all. The Greyjoy armor the ghost is wearing is all covered in with rust by now and Robb can almost smell it under the stench of decaying corpse.

He says nothing and stares at the thing, not because he wants to – the one thing he wants right now is looking anywhere else – but because Lord Balon is sending him such a reproachful look that it makes Robb want to hold the stare out of pure resent.

“What do you want?” He finally asks when nothing happens after what he considers more than enough time spent staring at something that makes him want to hurl.

“You’re ruining him,” the ghost hisses, “more than he was already. You have no _right_.”

Before Robb can even answer, he’s disappeared into thin air and Robb can breathe again freely, but the contrast is too much and that’s how he ends up vomiting the poor excuse of a dinner he had this evening.

Well, wasn’t that something. _At least Theon’s mother doesn’t detest me_ , he thinks to try and stop himself from having an even poorer reaction to this entire deal. Especially since he still can’t go back to his small, dark room.

He breathes in and out as long as he needs to get his bearings back, then he heads straight for the servants’ quarters and for the mess hall. 

“You look like you have just seen a ghost,” Dagmer tells him under his breath as he hands over a plate, covered with another.

“You aren’t too wrong about that,” Robb replies truthfully. “They left.”

“Good. I suppose I will see you tomorrow, my lord.”

“I suppose I will, as well.” By now, most of the garrison likes him, or what passes for ‘not hating a northerner in the Iron Islands’ for reasons Robb has no bloody clue about, but he’s hardly going to complain about that now, is he?

He walks up the stairs and knocks on the door next to his own.

“It’s me,” he says.

Theon opens a moment later, and lets him in.

Robb hands him the plate and looks at him as he finishes up the food Dagmer put aside for him in mere moments.

“You can’t do this much longer,” Robb sighs, taking in how thin Theon’s getting. They haven’t been here for a full month and his clothes are all visibly larger on him, and when Theon laughs a laugh without mirth he doesn’t feel any more reassured.

“Well, I can hardly come down and eat with you, but I can’t even let them slowly poison me either, can I?”

He flinches after saying that, looking down at his shaking fingers.

“Maybe you can –”

“No. I see what’s happening to my mother. And I obviously cannot point it out because they will realize I’m only pretending that I can talk to my dead brothers half of the time. And if they’re doing that with her, then I’m sure as the seven hells they’d do the same to me.”

“Fine, _fine_ , but – this can’t be enough. It’s obvious that it isn’t.”

“Well, at least I get this much. Robb, I can’t do differently. It’s going to have to be enough.”

“Right, and you look even worse than you did yesterday. Come on, maybe we can sneak downstairs and –”

“And risk someone seeing me? No. You gave them the ravens, right?”

“I did.”

“Well, then it’s not long now, is it?”

“Hopefully not.”

“Good. Good. Seven hells, this is ridiculous. I am seeing her die in front of my eyes and I can’t do a fucking thing to stop it, and at the same time I’m not much better than my lord father, am I.”

“Theon –”

“Am I not doing exactly what he wanted? Sure, _not by my hand_ , but –”

“ _Theon_. You saw him, didn’t you?”

Theon looks up at him with eyes that look a lot bigger than usual in his thin face and stares at him as if he expected everything but that.

“How did you –”

“I saw him, too. And – well. He told me that I was ruining you, and then he disappeared. I guess your conversation was longer, wasn’t it?”

Theon laughs again, and damn but even the fake smile he used to put on in Winterfell all the damned time was less upsetting.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I think I do.”

Theon lies down on the bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling a wool cloak on top of him, not that it’s going to help much considering how cold it is.

“I’m taking too long, this charade won’t solve a thing, a real son of his without watered blood in his veins would have gone through with this already and only a woman would be this invested into not killing the traitorous whore who conspired against their lord father. Never mind that the bare fact I haven’t killed you as well is enough of a shame in the first place.”

“He asked you to kill your own mother, gods! Though – well, I guess that he’s not the only one agreeing with the last part of it.”

“Don’t, all right? I don’t even know how you’re still here. I mean, I know, because they won’t let you go if you try, but you didn’t have –”

“I didn’t have to,” Robb interrupts, “but did you ever cross your mind that I’m here also because _I want to_?”

Theon doesn’t say what he was about to and instead stares back up at him, his fingers still slightly shaking grabbing Robb’s cloak.

“Robb, don’t think I’m not grateful, but –”

Fine, so maybe Robb should have said it instead of doing it, but he’s kept this bottled up for the last few years, and in between what he saw not an hour before and the way Theon looks and the way things are going right now – because who even knows if the plan will work, who knows if the mummer’s farce is going to fool Euron Greyjoy much longer, who knows if the ravens will be sent at all, something could always go wrong… he might as well state it for what it is, shouldn’t he?

So he moves forward and smashes his mouth against Theon’s in what is most probably a pretty bad excuse for a first kiss for him and a terrible excuse for a kiss in Theon’s case. When Theon freezes the moment their mouths collide, Robb leans back at once as the last thing he wants is doing something Theon doesn’t want, and then Theon’s other hand grips his wrist with a strength no one this malnourished should have.

“What was that?” He croaks.

“Something I’ve been wanting to do since you bragged about that time with Kyra and Bessa at the brothel. At least.” Robb knows he’s blushing now, he can feel his face burning up. “And – you deserve to know. I’m not regretting that I came with you, all right? Now I’m going to go, if –”

“Stark, you’re a bloody fool,” Theon sighs, and then he reaches back for Robb’s neck and drags him in for a kiss that would have left Robb with weak knees if he had been standing, his tongue slowly working its way in between his lips – not that Robb doesn’t part them at once. Theon kisses him slow and deep and with all the calm in the world even if his hands and his frame are shaking against Robb’s, and Robb moans a little into his mouth, moving closer and thinking that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

When he leans back he reaches up with his hand, running his thumb over Theon’s cheekbone and unable to keep himself from smiling, if only a tad. There’s nothing to be that happy about, but he can’t just keep it in.

“You could have said something before we ended up stuck here,” Theon sighs, but it sounds more fond than else.

“Wait, because –”

“I didn’t want _you_ here just because we’re such good friends, Robb.”

“Is it bad that I was glad they gave me that terrible bed so I’d have an excuse to sleep in yours?” Robb asks sheepishly, and he closes his eyes when Theon kisses him again, and he tries not to ask himself, _could it be that someone’s watching us?_

Probably someone is. He can smell something rotten very faintly.

He decides that he doesn’t care at all and he kisses back harder, pushing Theon back against the bed until he’s on top of him.

And then he decides that maybe it’s not the right occasion and he tries to move away, but Theon reaches out and wraps his fingers around his arm, keeping him still.

“Theon –”

“People don’t usually just sleep in my bed, Stark. Unless you aren’t up to the challenge,” he says, and it’s obvious he’s desperately trying to joke about this.

“I have been up for it for years,” Robb answers truthfully. “So – you want –”

“Yes, Robb, I thought it was plenty obvious,” Theon interrupts, and his leg presses up against Robb’s, and at this point it is indeed plenty obvious what Theon wants. Never mind that his own breeches are starting to become tight, and his smallclothes even more so, and – all right. He tries to flip their position, figuring that Theon will want to be on top, not that he has a problem with it, but Theon doesn’t let him.

“Theon, are you –”

“ _Robb_ , I’m saying that I want this the way we are right now and you aren’t allowed to ask any more questions. Understood?”

And the thing is – Robb has never done this, but he knows how it’s supposed to go – right, he knows how it’s supposed to go with girls also because Theon was never the kind to keep details to himself, but once there was a man working at the Winterfell brothel for a few moons, and Robb might have sent Jon to ask questions – he couldn’t go himself, too risky, and Jon had gone red in the face and told Robb he would owe him for the entirety of their lifetimes for it, but he went. So, Robb knows what he’s supposed to do, and there’s nothing in this room that might resemble lamp oil, let alone lamp oil itself. There are just a few candles to light the room.

Then again, it’s only incentive to make sure there’s a next time, right?

“Fine. Fine, I won’t,” he finally agrees, and then leans down to kiss Theon again, his hands moving to his shirt so he can undo the laces – it’s quick work, and when he moves back he doesn’t like to see up front how much weight Theon is losing, but he can’t start discussing it now, can he? So he just leans down and kisses his way from Theon’s mouth to his neck and then to his frame, his hands pressing down Theon’s hips.

“Robb, I’m not some kind of lady, just –”

“You said you wanted it like this? Then you don’t get to tell me how. Someone is protesting too much, I think,” Robb interrupts, then bites down on Theon’s hip and grins against his skin when Theon moans instead of letting out a complain. He feels better about what he’s doing already – it must feel good, right? – and so he moves to the other side, kissing his way down Theon’s shoulder up until his other hip, leaving a red mark next to the hipbone – he bites down gently on Theon’s skin and he feels a certain satisfaction when he sees it there, standing against its pale background.

At that point he moves back slightly, gets rid of his breeches and then pulls Theon’s down as well, throwing both breeches and smallclothes to the side.

“Are you finally –”

“No questions allowed, or am I wrong?”

Then he wraps his hand around Theon’s erection and Theon doesn’t say anything else because he moans out loud instead, and yes, that’s exactly what Robb had hoped for. He gives an experimental stroke or two, figuring that it can’t be that different from doing it to yourself, and it’s not, and it works because small moans keep on leaving Theon’s mouth as his dick grows harder against Robb’s palm and gods, is he really doing this? He is, and he’s going to feel dizzy from it the moment he can afford to. He finds relief searching for friction against Theon’s leg, but at some point it’s not enough and if only he had oil –

Well. Maybe he can improvise.

“Right. Right, spread your legs,” Robb urges a moment later.

“Oh, you’re finally taking the last step?”

“Because you haven’t liked it until now, have you? I can hear you, Theon. And it would be in your interests to get these nice and wet for me,” Robb says, feeling his face heat up as he puts the tip of his fingers next to Theon’s mouth.

Theon stares at him for a moment and then he parts his lips, and does exactly what Robb had asked for, and before it can go to his head and he comes without even having touched himself once, Robb kisses Theon after taking his fingers out of his mouth and doesn’t lose time in finding Theon’s entrance and pushing them both in.

It could be smoother, and it probably hurts, but Robb figures it’s fine as he’s not planning on doing anything else. He keeps on moving his fingers in and out, occasionally spitting on them, until he’s in deep enough and he can _push_ –

And then he’s glad they had been kissing, because otherwise Theon would have probably screamed and it’d have been a colossally bad idea.

“Robb – do that again,” Theon moans out as Robb does exactly that, hitting that same spot all over, and then he moves a bit forward so that his cock is touching Theon’s, then he breathes in and wraps his hand about both of them, or as much as he can.

Theon moans into his mouth again, and again, and Robb at this point is just trying to find a decent rhythm in between moving his fingers in and out, stroking both of their cocks and not breaking the kissing if he can help it, and at some point he must have managed – one of Theon’s legs wraps around his back and both of Theon’s hand grasp at his hair and when he moves back for air Theon says his name in a way that makes Robb’s blood boil for a moment, and then he knows he can’t hold back anymore and he’s coming all over Theon, and Theon does the same when he pushes his fingers as deep as he can for the last time, and at that point everything feels so good Robb could burst with it, and as he leans down and presses his lips to every part of Theon’s face he can possibly reach, Robb thinks that he’s really, really glad he acted on this.

At least they had something good.

But now that he knows –

Now that he knows, he will try his best to make sure this isn’t the first and last time.

 

_V_

 

It’s not that Theon had thought he had the situation under control. He never believed that for a second.

The problem is that he thought he had it more or less under control, and maybe before this very moment he had – to think that the day had started so well. Robb had still been in bed next to him (it’s been five days by now and this was the only time Theon woke up early enough to see him out) and it had been such a lovely sight. For once, a pale ray of sunlight is coming in from the window, making Robb’s red hair stand out against the pillow, and Theon had felt overwhelmed for a moment – damn it, he had been wondering for a while how it would feel to wake up next to Robb. Also, Robb’s hand had been around his hip, his leg thrown over Theon’s, and everything had felt so right that Theon had forgotten the almost perpetual pains of hunger taking hold of his stomach. By now he has learned to ignore them, if anything because it’s no point and only eating once each day is bad at the beginning but you get adjusted to it, but in the morning it’s always harder.

Still, he had felt better than usual when Robb kissed him before quietly walking out of the room and telling him they’d see each other in the evening. So much better than usual that he had figured he might try to muddle the waters a bit more – he had asked for an escort to the nearest graveyard, which his uncle Victarion had granted to him with an air of disdain, and he had spent a bit of time there talking nonsense to a few graves before coming back to the castle with a skull he had found lying in a pile of discarded bones on the side.

It had certainly somehow given credit to his story and maybe talking to the skull as if it was his lord father hadn’t been that well-received, but then again he has to pretend that he’s starving himself and that he’s going completely mad, so why the hell not. If said lord father was around to hear it, even better. Anyway, he had expected to be left alone for the day as usual.

Then he had been summoned by both his bloody uncles.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Victarion had said the moment Theon had walked into the room, skull still in hand.

“What a shame that we never could know each other better, dear father,” Theon had said to the skull, not paying attention to them.

“You do realize that cannot be your father, boy?” Victarion had shouted at him. Theon had ignored him.

“Well, he still should be questioned,” Euron had said. “Nephew, would you mind trying to answer a couple of questions?”

“If I can,” Theon had said, trying to make it sound as if he didn’t care one way or the other.

“Someone that I sent to your sister to make sure I get the right information just sent me a raven where he swears that you contacted her in order to strike an alliance, which makes me wonder if your wits aren’t as far gone as we all think.”

“My lord, I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing my sister for ten years by now. I am quite sure that I have spoken more with my lord father here in the last few hours than with her since I left home, and I am counting the one letter she sent to Ned Stark. I always were here in the castle, how would I have sent a raven? Unless you think I tied it to one of the birds in the graveyard, but I can quite assure you that it was not the case. As far as I know, she might be looking for a husband in Dorne.”

Victarion huffs – Theon just smirks back. He knows his sister’s technically married to Lord Erik, not that she was there for the wedding, but he’s made a point of pretending he has no idea until now. “Too bad I could not attend her wedding. I would take great pleasure in singing something appropriate for her. How did it go? _The Dornishman’s wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring, but the Dornishman’s blade was made of black steel, and its kiss was a terrible thing_?”

He had also gone out of his way to make sure he offered them all his worst singing capabilities. The two of them had still been looking at him as if they wished he’d drop dead right now, and that had been when he had done an incredibly stupid thing. He’s fairly sure he can blame it on the night he just had, on how elated he had felt – that feeling had certainly helped with forcing himself out of bed and keeping on with the charade, but he hardly has been thinking completely straight since he stopped eating three times each day.

He should have never opened his mouth.

“Then again, maybe it’s not that suited. After all, I doubt my sister would willingly marry someone who uses poison to off their enemies – that’s hardly what she’d appreciate in a man, as far as I recall. Not that I am privy to her thoughts, of course, but I think she would think that man a coward if they cannot kill someone without using treachery. Maybe she’d like _Six Maids in a Pool_ better? What would you say?”

Or maybe he shouldn’t have looked at them while saying that.

There had been one single moment, when he had said _poison_ , when the one visible eye belonging to his uncle had become a fraction wider in obvious surprise, and Theon had seen that, and he had know his uncle had noticed that as well, because then that eye had been pointed at him and there had been something like rage brimming beneath the surface.

“Is there something you aren’t telling us, Theon?” His blue lips had been set in a thin line and Theon had realized he had to act cautiously.

Which is when his father’s ghost had appeared and Theon had realized that he was in deep trouble.

Right now, there’s a bleeding corpse standing in between him and his uncles and he needs for it to go away.

“Do it now,” the ghost sneers.

“I’m not doing anything,” Theon tells it, and – hells, it’s obvious that he’s the only person in the room seeing it.

“Why, has the Stark boy finally softened you so?”

 _He knows_ , Theon thinks, and he almost denies it, but then again – his father is dead. And people are hearing Theon, not him.

“Then carry it out yourself if it matters this much to you, _father_ ,” Theon says, knowing that they’ll hear, and of course Victarion says _He’s really gone mad, Euron, why are we wasting our time_ , but that’s not everything he hears.

He also hears a gasp from behind the curtain at his left, and it sounded – he doesn’t know how it sounded, but they’re not alone, someone is hiding in this room, and –

And he’s hungry, he’s _tired_ , his mother won’t have long to live now, not when he’s sure she has been fed poison for months and she can barely get out of bed, which means that the islands are the exact same thing as Winterfell and Robb is the only person in either place who doesn’t want him to drop dead, and there’s a corpse dripping invisible blood all over the floor staring at him as if he’s the biggest disappointment in the seven realms, and –

He’s _done_.

“And I suppose that since I am mad you wouldn’t think I would realize that there is someone in this room that I don’t know about?” Theon doesn’t even know he’d sound this angry, but he can’t keep it in anymore, and before anyone can stop him he grabs the knife he keeps on his belt, stalks towards the curtain on his right and plunges it forward.

For a moment, he hopes that he’s wrong and that he will just ruin the curtain, if only because he wants to be wrong, but –

The knife doesn’t only tear the curtain apart. 

The knife sinks deep into soft and giving flesh, and so Theon grabs the curtain and yanks it down, just to find himself in front of Erik Ironmaker, who had been sitting on a comfortable chair and whose throat had been at the height of Theon’s hip.

 _No_ , Theon thinks. Damn it. The man was here only to spy, most probably. But he has just killed him, and there’s blood all over the man’s throat and his clothes and his hands and –

“My dear nephew, I think you are a threat to the both of us, aren’t you? Guards!”

He doesn’t move as a couple of soldiers drag him backwards, hands latched on his elbows.

“Look at you. You kill a man, and it’s not even the right one,” his father’s ghost says from his side, and then disappears into thin air again.

It’s too much. It’s entirely too much.

He passes out.

\--

The dungeons are even less comfortable than his room was, not that it comes as a surprise.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when Dagmer comes by to regretfully inform him that his uncle has accused him of treason and that a trial is to be held three days from now, and that his mother has passed away from grief the moment she heard it.

 _Just what he had wanted_ , Theon thinks.

“Wex and Gelmarr are back,” Dagmer tells him.

“Did they do what they were supposed to?”

“So they say. They also say they paid for what they were assured was the fastest.”

“Good. Is Ned Stark going to attack the islands again, though?”

He figures there is no other way he can ask for this kind of information. Dagmer thinks about it for a moment, then his eyes widen in understanding.

“No, because his son is currently sleeping in the barracks with the rest of us. He says he wants to be there for the trial, but –”

“No. _Absolutely_ not. Put him on a ship for Seagard and tell him to go back to Winterfell at once and explain what is really going on here. Not that his father won’t know, if the ravens are fast, but – he shouldn’t be here.”

“Very well, I shall. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. And thank you.”

Dagmer gives him a curt nod and walks away.

\--

The dungeons are dark and damp

( _like the bloody islands_ )

and he shrugs as he leans back against the wall. There is no one else in the nearby cell, of course.

He decides that he might as well go down bothering whoever’s guarding him and starts singing _Brave Danny Flint_ – not that he particularly likes it, but it’s the first northern song he could think of and if they want to think he has somehow turned into a wolf during his stay at Winterfell, fuck them, they might as well.

When he sees his father silently staring at him from outside his cell, he doesn’t even bother and sings louder.

\-- 

The only good thing about being forced in a dungeon is that he doesn’t bother with refusing the food – if his uncle wants a public trial then he’s not going to poison him, which means that when he’s finally brought back in front of the Seastone Chair he’s not feeling like fainting at any given moment.

He’s dragged over in chains and left standing in front of his uncles, a selection of other lords and less guards than he would have imagined.

“My lord,” Theon says when no one is holding his arms anymore, making sure every drop of venom shows in his tone.

“Oh, here he is, finally. I trust that you will drop your act, dearest nephew?”

“And how about you just tell me what I stand accused of, _dearest uncle_?”

“Until early this morning, it was conspiring to remove me from the rightful position I am occupying, but now the situation has changed.”

“Has it?”

“Of course it has. Your traitorous sister’s fleet has _just_ attacked us, and while I am confident she shall not last long, it is now obvious that you were buying her time and that you were conspiring from the beginning with a known banished traitor.”

As if. He has barely _conspired_ with Asha, but that’s hardly the point, isn’t it?

“And I imagine you planned to convince her to hand over the islands to the North like the Stark lap dog you are, or am I wrong?”

For a moment Theon is so flabbergasted he cannot even put his disbelief into words. “I was planning no such thing,” he protests.

“When you wouldn’t go anywhere without your precious Robb Stark? Who has conveniently disappeared the moment you were arrested?”

“I wouldn’t blame him, considering how his visit has fared.”

“So you _do_ admit you’re his lap dog. Or should I say lap wolf?”

Hopefully Robb is on a ship to Winterfell right now, and there’s no way he’s getting out of this situation alive, so he might as well go without regrets.

“I’m not his _anything_. I just tend to value his opinion because he’s apparently the one person in this realm who cares for mine, and I never once thought I’d hand over the islands to anyone. And I was merely appalled that you would offer such accommodations to me as well, never mind Robb Stark. But since I see that there is now way I won’t be found guilty, I will save my lords the hassle of carrying out a proper trial, and I shall save my uncle Aeron time and effort since I suppose it would fall to him to make sure I meet the Drowned God properly. I want a trial by battle.”

His uncle’s eyes lit up in what looks like amusement.

“You wish for a trial? And who’s to be your champion?”

“I will be my own,” Theon sighs. “Against whoever you wish. Though I would think that you might be interested in completing your work.”

Silence falls all of a sudden and now Euron looks angry, rather than amused.

“What did you mean?”

“As it seems to me that you successfully made it so that both my parents met their end and that you are invested into making sure my sister meets hers as well, I thought you would want to finish this and fight me yourself. But I should be glad to go against whichever champion you might choose.”

For a moment he thinks, _maybe he’s going to falter, maybe the others will realize that I’m telling the truth_ , but then Euron stands up, grins again and touches the sword at his hip.

“I have no hand in the death of your parents, but just for this? I should be glad to fight you.”

 _Not that you will last long_ , he doesn’t say, but Theon can hear it.

He can hear it just fine.

“Give him a sword.”

Someone undoes his chains and thrusts an old sword covered in rust at him.

Great. Now he also has to fight with a useless sword, on top of the fact that he never was any good at swordfighting.

He takes a breath and wraps his fingers around the hilt.

He tries not to pay attention to the fact that the air behind him has just become colder.

“This is how you think you’re showing that you have iron in your blood?”

Theon ignores his father’s voice, takes another deep breath and when Victarion says that they might begin, he’s nowhere near ready, but he figures it doesn’t even matter by now.

He notices at once that Euron isn’t trying to disarm him or to kill him as quickly as possible – he’s obviously trying to make sure the tip of his sword cuts his skin rather than anything else he could be doing with the weapon, which probably means it’s a poisoned sword, and damn, maybe _The Dornishman’s Wife_ wasn’t such a bad choice after all. He tries to dodge as much as possible, but knowing he can’t afford to cut himself on that blade limits his movements, and he might have eaten for three days straight but he’s still weak, never mind that he’s surrounded by people who most probably want him dead.

Still, he holds his own fairly decently, to the point that he barely dodges a strike meant for his hip – the sword tears the poor excuse of a shirt he’s wearing instead. It was so large it hung off his frame.

And that’s when he decides that he has to risk – he always used to make the same mistake when fighting Robb, who would tell him that leaving vulnerable openings like these was a bad idea. He tries to remember what Robb used to do in those instances and manages to disarm Euron without much finesse, but before he can gather his breath back and try to strike with the ridiculous excuse for a sword he’s using, he sees Victarion throwing his own sword at Euron, who is quickly standing up and –

Well, damn it. He throws away his own weapon, reaches for Euron’s discarded one which had been lying next to his foot and since Victarion is the closest right now, he figures that he will disappoint his father and strikes – it pierces through his uncle’s vest and Theon feels it sink into his flesh before steel meets his own skin.

“You _bastard_ ,” Victarion screams, and – well, this just confirms his fears. It’s not a deadly wound. Not unless the blade is poisoned.

“Sorry you will not get whatever dragons he promised you,” Theon mutters before letting himself fall on his back.

“You really can’t strike where you really want to, can you?” Euron asks, standing right above him. “Still, that was a fair fight. Not enough, but that teaches you to go into battle without a decent champion.”

Then he raises the sword and hells but he’s not going to let him win this easily – Theon puts all the effort he’s got left into turning on his side right when Euron plunges the sword down – the tip meets the cold marble stained in his own blood and hells but the gaping wound in his side is hurting a lot.

He closes his eyes, waiting for the blow – he can’t possibly move further – but then –

“He has one.”

Right. Now he’s hallucinating Robb’s voice out of everything, and –

The blow doesn’t come.

“Isn’t this hilarious,” Euron says.

Theon opens his eyes and –

And Robb is standing behind his uncle with a dagger pressed against his back. Or so it looks like from his poor vantage point.

“Hilarious? You can fight me fairly or I can put this in your back right now.”

“And wouldn’t your honorable father appreciate that kind of legacy?”

“My honorable father wouldn’t like it at all, but he’s not here, is he?”

“At this point, I suppose I shall _fight you fairly_ , Stark.”

“Just not with the sword you had before,” Robb says, pushing it out of the way. “And don’t think someone will stop me before we can start – it happens that most of your guards are heading outside to help your niece. And the others are making sure no one else interferes.”

Theon can’t even believe his own ears or eyes, and he’s losing blood at a fairly alarming rate so he can barely follow, but yes, Robb is there, and yes, he’s definitely raising arms against Euron, and no one is stopping him and then –

He tries to sit up and puts a hand against the gaping wound in his side and sees Robb dodging blows left and right, and he can’t believe the idiot hasn’t left already or that he’d do this when it’s not even his fight at all, and then –

“That was your duty,” his father says from above him.

The air smells beyond foul now, and Theon really hopes that wherever he goes it’s not the same place his father is, because he’d rather disappear into nothing than spending the rest of his existence with his father’s ghost looking at him as if he was his greatest disappointment.

“Whatever you say,” Theon whispers, feeling blood in his mouth. By now he doesn’t even care.

“So I will have to thank Ned Stark’s son if he succeeds?”

“No,” Theon says, “because he’s not doing that for you.”

He can hear people wondering if he really was mad after all, but then he hears a scream and then more screaming and then there’s noise all around and Robb is suddenly covering him completely, his body on top of Theon’s.

“What –” Theon rasps. He can barely talk by now.

“He’s dead,” Robb answers, leaning closer and pressing over the wound in his side with his cloak. “Your sister is coming at some point soon. I’m sorry I couldn’t come before, but – I had to make sure they would help me out.”

“But – what is this –”

“Don’t worry,” Robb says, “just don’t. Talk to me, all right? That wound is not too bad.”

“Robb, I’m spitting blood. And you should be going to Winterfell. You should have left, damn you, not –”

“Not without you, idiot. Just – don’t move. You’re going to live.”

“Seven hells, did you really –”

“I had been wanting to since the moment he told me he’d be gracious enough to add a place at his table for me,” Robb says, moving closer, his hand still putting pressure on his wound.

He realizes he can still smell that foul stench of decaying corpse, but it’s not that prominent anymore, and so – so he breathes in and even if he can taste blood in his mouth, Robb’s frame and hands are warm against his skin, and he doesn’t know if he’s really going to live, but if he shouldn’t, it wouldn’t be so bad to go like this.

He closes his eyes and he smiles just a bit – no, it wouldn’t be bad at all.

 

_Epilogue_

 

“Are you really sure about this?”

“About leaving so soon or about leaving at all?”

“Both, probably.” Asha seems sincerely sorry about his decision, which makes him feel pretty secure that he made the right choice. And he wishes he could stay longer, he really does, but – his side still hurts, the weather hasn’t changed, the rain is still pouring down heavily and the castle looming in the distance looks still gloomy.

“Yes,” he says. “I wish I could, but – I can’t stay there. I know I could go on Harlaw, but what’s the point in it?”

“I guess I see your point,” Asha agrees. “But – well. For what it’s worth, you are welcome whenever you want to come back. And if you ever need my fleet, or if Stark ever needs it – no one will think of denying an alliance.”

He smiles, just a bit, because after everything that happened they surely would not.

“You know,” she says, “our mother, she hadn’t smiled once since they took you away. I never saw her doing that again. Did she –”

“She did. I’m just – I wish I could have attended the funeral, but – I was too busy rotting down in the dungeons.”

“I’m glad. You know, you have the same smile as she did.”

“I – I never really noticed?”

“I guess no one bothered to point that out. Well, if this is your decision, then I hope your return is more pleasant than your arrival.”

He shrugs. He doesn’t tell her that no one in Winterfell will be overjoyed to see him coming back, but it doesn’t matter. Here, he would pretty much useless – he realized that he barely even knows how he’s supposed to behave, and after what happened, no one would ever want him in the position that would have been his by rights. He glances at his sister – she looks entirely like someone who has just spent two months rallying men and organizing an attack on her own family. Robb had joked that anyone could have guessed they were siblings just by glancing at the two of them at the same time, and he was right – they most probably look the same kind of worn out. But now she has definitely proved that she has it in her to rule the islands and he was quick to agree to support her claim when he woke up after almost dying during the trial.

He’s better off in Winterfell. He doesn’t love it, and it will never be home, but he has realized that the islands won’t be, either, and – and Robb’s there.

But there’s no point in letting her know that.

“Thank you,” he merely tells her, and then walks towards the ship’s deck.

He sees Robb shaking his sister’s hand and telling her something, then before coming in he turns to say a few words to Dagmer and Wex, who came with him, hands Wex something that Theon can’t see from his position. Then he turns his back on all of them and joins him on the deck.

“How are you feeling?” He asks just after they walk into his cabin.

“As well as one could. But I will be better once we leave.”

Robb sits down next to him, then sighs and holds his hand out, palm up.

“Gods, I will never hear the end of this, will I?”

“What do you mean?”

“Robb, I spent years talking about how I would take my father’s place. I highly doubt people will forget that.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone will try to ask you about it while I can hear.”

“So what, in order not to deal with it I should never leave your bloody side?”

“Why, did you do that before?” Robb’s elbow nudges him a bit in his unhurt side, and Theon can’t help it – he smiles just a tiny bit again as he finally puts his hand in Robb’s and tangles their fingers together.

He doesn’t tell Robb that he can smell that decaying corpse stench until the ship leaves Pyke far behind them. Then it’s just gone.

But just before then, he hears, very clear, _how does it feel to go back home to your captors like the loyal dog I know you are_?

“I’m not going home. I am already,” he tells to the empty room later, when Robb has gone outside for a breath of fresh air, and he receives no answer.

End.


End file.
